


heavy of a golden hue

by bellowbacks



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Breakfast, Bunker Fic, F/M, Post 2x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 05:38:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13943985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellowbacks/pseuds/bellowbacks
Summary: Wyatt makes breakfast. Morning after 2x01 ends.





	heavy of a golden hue

**Author's Note:**

> THAT EPISODE!!! im on twitter @peachfutch, come yell with me!! 
> 
> dont know if this bunker has a kitchen, don't care either, this is cute wyatt is good
> 
> title from monsoon by hippo campus

Lucy woke up the next morning, and for a moment, everything was okay. Her hands had killed once before, but she had come to terms with that a while ago. 

When she opened her eyes, she felt her body age years in one second. The walls of the bunker were still a dull grey, she was still in an old, worn t-shirt and pajama pants, and she was still laying on a cot. 

She stood up. Her feet were cold on the ground and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her head hurt so bad.

There were some quiet noises coming from outside of the room she was in, but her door was closed, so she couldn’t tell what any of the muffled thuds meant. So, she grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and pulled the heavy door open. 

The bunker echoed, and Lucy knew she was going to hate that already. She pulled her blanket around her shoulders tighter and took a deep breath before following the sounds of the noises further into the maze they called a home these days.

As she rounded a corner, she realized that it was Wyatt, and he was in a kitchen. It was fairly small, but he had covered a whole section of counter in eggs, bread, bacon, and assorted bowls and utensils needed to cook. There was music playing from a black bluetooth speaker that was sitting on the counter and Wyatt was humming along softly. He was even swaying back and forth to the music, a soft smile on his face.

Lucy watched for a moment, feeling a little warmer than she had a minute ago, and then spoke up. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” she asked and stepped closer, leaning against the counter. 

Wyatt turned around quickly, his eyebrows raised in surprise. His expression settled quickly and he shot her a quick smile. “We got you back, that’s what,” he said, and then sang the next few words of the song that was playing. It was some classic rock song that Lucy had heard before but couldn’t name, but she wouldn’t tell Wyatt that.

“You making breakfast?” she asked then, glancing around for a coffee pot. When she didn’t see one, she felt her shoulders slump even further forward. Without coffee, maybe this place was as awful as she thought. 

Wyatt shrugged. “More like brunch, lunch even, not like we can tell time in this pit,” he said as he flipped some bacon over. “Want some OJ? Coffee?” he asked. Lucy perked up. 

“Coffee?” she asked. “I’d love some.”

Wyatt opened a cabinet to reveal a very old looking coffee pot, pulled it down from where it was stored, and plugged it in. “We had these at most of the places I was deployed to,” he said as he dug around for a filter and grounds. “Old, but still works just as well.” He flashed her a smile as he started assembling the machine, and then as it gurgled to life, he turned back to the food. 

Lucy found herself watching his back as he moved, muscle covered by a pale green t-shirt. He seemed more clean shaven than the night before, when he had held her in her bed, and they had almost kissed. God, that was a majorly bad idea. Lucy mentally berated herself for even trying to make a move, but she knew that she wouldn’t unless she was drunk or emotionally compromised, like she was. 

“Bacon, eggs, and toast alright?” Wyatt asked. Lucy nodded, and then realized he had his back to her, and vocalized her desire. 

“Thanks,” she tacked on to the end and finally pulled out a stool at the counter she was at. “Why does a missile bunker have a kitchen, anyways?” she asked as she adjusted her blanket. 

Wyatt shrugged. “I dunno. Glad it does, though.” He glanced back at her with a smile. “I asked Agent Christopher to get us some groceries. She got the basics, so we should be okay for a while as long as I’m not the only one who knows how to cook around here.” 

Lucy avoided eye contact. “I…” she started, and Wyatt chuckled. She felt the tension in her body soothing out the longer she spoke to Wyatt, his mere presence calming. 

“I should’ve known. Hotshot professor, historical genius, author with an agenda, of course you don’t know how to cook,” he said with a teasing look on his face. He separated out a few slices of bread and slid them into the old, rusty toaster, pushing the lever down carefully and slowly enough to not break it. The wires inside started heating up, and Lucy furrowed her brow as she imagined anything lighting on fire in this bunker. Not a good picture. 

“I just never learned,” she said softly. Wyatt hummed understanding and finished up what he was doing, wiping his hands on a cloth and tossing it onto his shoulder. He poured two mugs of coffee and looked at her expectantly. “Oh, cream and sugar, please. Not too much sugar,” she said. Wyatt made her coffee and his own and then set hers in front of her. They took sips in unison, and Lucy just about groaned in happiness at the feeling.

“You good?” Wyatt asked, hiding a smile behind his mug. Lucy met his eyes and nodded, attempting a smile but getting a weak twitch of her lips instead.

“Thanks,” she said and took another sip. Wyatt set his mug down and got out two plates from the cabinet. 

As he started plating the food he had made, the toast popped out of the old brick and he grabbed it to cut, butter, and put on plates. He set a full plate in front of Lucy, one next to her, and then grabbed forks from a drawer. He came around and sat next to her with his mug. Their shoulders brushed, just barely, and Lucy leaned into the touch until Wyatt scooted a little closer.

They ate in companionable quiet, the only sounds in the room their chewing, the music still playing softly through Wyatt’s speaker, and Lucy’s own thoughts. This quickly became stifling. Her hands, holding her fork, couldn’t help but feel the weight of a period-appropriate gun in her arms. The felt the recoil, still. She heard the man’s last breath. 

Her mother’s touch, probably for the last time, she could still feel it. The french that Marie Curie’s daughter had insulted still caught in her throat. She still felt the tense, thick air that had cycled through her quivering body as she stood in front of Emma so that she wouldn’t destroy history all together.

“You alright, Luce? You’re shaking, and not eating,” Wyatt said softly, and Lucy snapped out of it. She turned and looked at him.

“Sorry, yeah,” she said, forced a smile, and took another bite of eggs. She knew they tasted fine, but they felt disgusting and rubbery in her mouth. 

“You don’t have to be,” Wyatt said. He hadn’t started eating again.

“You don’t either,” Lucy retorted. 

“I am, though. I have you back, that’s been my only worry for weeks,” he said with a small shrug. Lucy looked deep into his eyes, saw not a single shred of a lie, and looked away. She took another sip of coffee. That, at least, was palettable. 

Wyatt wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in an awkward hug. It was as comforting as he could get when Lucy was wrapped in a blanket and they were both on barstools, but it worked. Lucy felt marginally better.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered. 

“Thank you for saving _me_ , Lucy,” Wyatt responded.


End file.
